Bereavement and Psychological Introspection
by AnthroQueen
Summary: Tomorrow. They'll discuss it all tomorrow.


**What even is this... I started this at 4 p.m. and it's now 1:14 a.m. I'll fix the typos/grammatical errors tomorrow. But I need to sleep. Also! Look out for my Halloween story- coming soon! Well, on Halloween, obviously. Anyway. Goodnight, all! Enjoy this random piece of drama/fluff inspired by the new Jeff/Britta spoilers I heard on Tumblr (Yeah! Finally got me a Tumblr!) Enjoy or don't, either way, thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

Bereavement and Psychological Introspection

It's been two and a half years since Troy's semi-disastrous twenty-first birthday, but Annie still feels incredibly uneasy each time she walks into a bar. She's dressed modestly in a sundress and tights, sparkly ballet flats, and a blue cardigan, which she buttons up to her collarbone the moment a drunken forty-year-old catcalls at her from beside the jukebox. Okay, maybe she should have had Troy pick up the wine for Abed's birthday. Why they need some fancy white wine for their modest get together of seven, maybe eight people was beyond her, but after doing her research, Annie learns that the only place to purchase this wine is at an actual bar. She's hoping it doesn't cost an arm and a leg, because she's only got eighty dollars.

She's called and ordered ahead, so when she steps up to the bar and gives her name, the bartender nods understandingly and heads to the back room. Annie's still glancing around the room and grimacing at sight of drunken idiots making out, arguing, or, _ew_, vomiting into a clump of paper napkins. Who could want this lifestyle? It's eight o'clock on a Wednesday night; what reason is there to get drunk? She thinks of Jeff and Britta and smirks, wondering what could have possibly happened in their pasts to warrant their present behavior. And just as she tries to understand, a flicker of light catches her eye from across the bar.

A glare from the dim bar light bounces off of an expensive wristwatch as its owner replaces the now empty glass of alcohol on the oak countertop. Annie's eyes trace the pattern of the wristwatch for a moment before she realizes she's seen it before and when she glances higher, towards the owner's face, she isn't surprised to see who it is. He orders another drink just as Annie crosses the bar and comes to sit beside him. If he's noticed she's there, he doesn't acknowledge it; just downs his typical scotch in one gulp and beckons for another. Annie knows this is how Jeff solves all of his problems- stress, anger, guilt- and she leans forward and rests a hand on his upper arm.

"Jeff, are you okay?"

"Britta?" He slurs hopefully, but when he realizes it's Annie, he doesn't seem disappointed. "Oh hi… I texted Britta, but I don't think she's coming…"

"Britta's in New York, remember?" Annie implores. "It's Spring Break; she's been gone this whole week."

"Oh… right. Yeah, I forgot." He gulps down his drink once more and Annie bites her lip uneasily.

"How many of those have you had?"

"I'm not keeping track."

Annie frowns. "Come on. Let's get you home."

"I'm not going home."

"Jeff-"

"I'm _not_ going home," His tone is angrily adamant and shocks Annie for a moment. Clearly he's upset; she's just not sure why.

"Well you can't stay here," Annie pleads. "You can come back to our place. We'll get some food in your stomach. Abed's buttered noodles are to die for."

Jeff doesn't respond, but stands and stumbles over himself. Annie grabs hold of his right arm and leads him to the doorway, shaking her head when the bartender presents her with the expensive white wine. She steers him towards her car, protesting immediately when he points towards his Lexus and promises him she or Troy will pick it up later. He slumps against the cold window of the passenger seat the entire ride home and her car fills with the scent of Macallan scotch. When she finally pulls into the lot by their apartment, Jeff's fast asleep.

Troy must've seen her pull in, because he's meeting her by the car to help with the cases of wine. Startled to see Annie attempting to lug Jeff instead, he asks, "What happened to him?"

"I don't know," She shakes her head. "Just help me get him inside."

"What about the wine?" Troy implores, swinging one of Jeff's arms around his shoulders as Annie does the same.

"Another time, Troy!" She rolls her eyes. "That's really not important right now."

They buckle under his weight as they attempt to carry him up three flights of stairs and finally make it to their apartment, laying him gently down on the couch and draping him with a blanket. Troy places a neon orange bucket from Home Depot beneath him as well, just in case. From there, the two stare at him, watching his chest rise and fall- the only sign that he's still alive, since the rest of his body looks as though he's given up. Troy and Annie exchange a worried glance just as Abed, fresh from an obligatory dinner with his father, walks through the door.

"Hi," He greets them, tossing his keys on the card table by the door. "What's Jeff doing here?"

"Ask Annie," Troy shrugs and Annie's unsure of what to say.

"I found him like this at The Ballroom," Annie responds. "I don't know how much he had to drink, but something tells me he was there for a while."

"What do we do about him?" Troy wonders, poking him with his sneaker-clad foot. Jeff doesn't stir.

"I'm going to call Britta," Annie decides, whipping her cell phone out of her purse. "He asked for her when I found him. She'll know what to do."

"Well it makes sense, considering the circumstances," Abed says and gains both Troy and Annie's attention. "What? Did I misunderstand something?"

"Considering what circumstances?" Troy asks curiously and Annie nods from her position across the room, where the sound of the dial tone is buzzing in her ear.

"You haven't heard?" Abed wonders and then yanks a newspaper out of his messenger bag and tosses it to Troy, who turns so Annie can read it too.

For a moment, they're not sure why Abed has turned to the obituaries. Then, halfway down the page, they read: "_Doreen Winger, 78_."

"Damn," Troy says, glancing over at the slumbering form of her son. "That sucks, dude."

"Oh my God," Annie sighs. "Oh my God, I didn't know…"

"_Hello? Annie? Are you there?_"

At first Annie's too shocked to speak. Then she snaps out of it, saying, "Britta… Hi."

"_Are you alright? You sound awful. What's going on?_"

Annie frowns, glancing from Troy to Abed and back to Jeff. "I think you need to come home."

* * *

Britta's pretty sure that making the executive decision to go to New York for her senior year Spring Break is one of the better decisions she's made since attending Greendale. New York at any time of the year is spectacular, but nothing beats the city in spring; it's just warm enough to survive without a coat, the trees in Central Park are blooming iridescent whites and pinks, and the smell of rain always adds a hint of spontaneity to the day. Of course, Britta doesn't really care about nature; she's just glad to be back at home, back where she belongs, after three years of not really knowing what the hell she's doing.

She goes to meet up with her parents first, to get it over with, to rip the Band-Aid right off. They comment on her clothes, her hair, her lifestyle before getting down to business- when is she going to move back home? When is she going to settle down and have a family? She's not getting any younger, you know, and neither are they; they'd like a few more grandkids before they take retire to the great high horse in the sky. Britta nods politely and bites her lip to keep from commenting on their nonsense and has to physically keep herself from rolling her eyes. They suggest she visit with her brothers next and Britta has every intention of never doing so.

But her older-but-not-oldest brother's wife goes into labor two days later, so a family reunion occurs in the waiting room of the hospital. Her brothers get their shots in about her Bohemian lifestyle once more and then they're introduced to the world's newest little terror- a baby girl with huge beady eyes and giant, Bratz doll-like lips. Britta tries to be nice, but the baby looks like an alien; there really isn't too much she can say that's positive. Thankfully, there's so much cooing and awing that Britta's able to sneak out without being noticed.

That evening, she'd had dinner with her former best friend Sage. Sage- rallying, ranting, anarchist with whom Britta had done everything in the past has turned into Susie Homemaker, the exact cookie cutter of what Britta is most fearful. She spends twenty-five minutes talking about her wedding to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome ("We argued forever over the color of the tablecloths!" "He wanted lilies, but I _insisted_ upon roses!" "We would have invited you, Britta, but you know how much you hate weddings and marriage!") and Britta nods slightly, wondering if she, too, has changed this much. Sage brings up her three children Tennyson, Atticus, and Mabel (_seriously?!_) before Britta realizes she's had enough.

So the conversation with Annie over Jeff's mother's death could not have come at a better time.

She hasn't even hung up the phone before she's throwing her clothes back into her suitcase and pulling her laptop from the depths of the hotel room, searching for the next flight to Colorado. Annie sounds extremely worried about Jeff and who can blame her? He's been through so much this past year; this has to have put him over the edge. At some point, this is all going to be too much for him. Britta has an argument with the airline a few moments after Annie's call and is finally booked for an overnight flight back home. She gives the hotel room a once-over and is out the door.

It's almost midnight by the time she's through security and she learns her flight's been delayed on account of a freak snowstorm in Springfield, Illinois, where they're scheduled for a layover. Britta frowns and sighs exasperatedly. This is fucking great. Just her luck; she finally gets a chance to exercise her work-in-progress therapeutic skills and they're delaying her arrival. She sits beside a man in a suit at her terminal and immediately thinks of Jeff. Thumbing through her phone for something to do, she notices that while she was busy that evening eating dinner and swapping sob stories with Sage, Jeff had texted her: "_The Ballroom. Be there in a half hour_" and then a follow up text, when she hadn't responded: "_… Please?_"

Her heart breaks a little, then; Jeff had needed her and she had been where? In New York, trying to reclaim her past identity? How selfish could she be? This could have been the night that he finally opened up to her and she'd missed it by being thousands of miles away. She tries not to think of this too much; Jeff had Annie, right? They're just as close and she and Jeff are. He had Shirley, too; who better to talk to about death than Shirley, the epitome of all Christians? Somehow this makes Britta feel worse, though. Sure Jeff had the rest of the gang, but he didn't text _them_, did he? She groans and wishes time would move faster.

He flight finally boards at one-thirty on the morning. She barely gets sleep thanks to the guy next to her, who laughs hysterically through episodes of The Big Bang Theory the entire flight (Britta's adamant that _nothing_ is that funny, especially that show, for God's sake). They have a two-hour layover in Springfield, where Britta gives up on sleep and instead flips through pages of magazines she doesn't care about before they're back in the air, landing in Colorado a little before six in the morning. Except, it's eight in the morning where she's just come from, so, jet-lagged and disoriented, Britta hails a taxi and simultaneously calls apartment 303.

Troy answers and Britta immediately frowns. Things between them had been awkward and stilted and had ended as abruptly as they began. He sounds as exhausted as she feels saying, "_You've reached La Casa Chez Tranniebed! Who are you calling for?_"

"Hi Troy," Britta greets quickly. "I just got back. Is Annie there?"

"_You're home already? Damn. That was fast._"

"Well… family emergency, right?" Britta answers and Troy chuckles.

"_It's not that urgent. She's not going to die twice_." He's still laughing and somehow, Britta finds this inappropriate. He composes himself and adds, "_Annie just left. She said something about keeping Jeff's mind off of what happened; that it's good to stay busy_."

"Where did she go?"

"_To the funeral home on Harrison_," Troy explains. "_Jeff didn't seem too thrilled, but he went with her_."

"Thanks," Britta says and hangs up before Troy can say anything else.

Moments later, the funeral home receptionist directs her down a hallway and in the direction she'd just sent Jeff and Annie. She can hear, faintly, a deep male's voice and then Annie chiming in here and there, and when she pushes open the door, she realizes it's because Jeff isn't engaging in the conversation at all. The director of the funeral home is pointing out different types of caskets, different floral arrangements, and various organizations of funeral proceedings, and though Annie is not shy to offer her opinion, Jeff is refusing to give his.

He remains standing in the corner, thumbing through his phone as usual, even as Britta enters the room. She's not sure what she'd expected; surely it wouldn't be like Jeff to be a sobbing, inconsolable mess and he can handle his scotch, so he's not suffering from a debilitating hangover, or anything. But she'd expected him to be at least a little different; after all, this was his _mother_. Jeff's acting as if nothing is wrong, as if this is any other ordinary day. He shrugs and smirks at the questions the director and Annie are posing to him and doesn't look up when they ask his opinion.

Britta's so confused by this she doesn't notice at first the director calling out to her. "Excuse me, ma'am? Can I help you?"

"Oh, she's with us. She's our friend," Annie grins. "Hi Britta! You got here fast!"

Jeff glances up when Annie says her name, but if he's relieved or surprised or glad she's here, he doesn't show it; he simply looks back to his phone once more. Britta smiles as well. "Yeah, well I figured you could use some help, you know."

Annie moves closer to her and lowers her voice. "Yeah, some help would be good right about now. He hasn't said a word to me since last night and he refuses to talk to Tom about what he wants. He's acting like a _child_!"

"Annie," Britta warns. "He just lost his mom. Be patient."

"Ugh, I know," Annie sighs. "I'm sorry. Maybe you can talk to him? Try and get something out of him? We have to plan this funeral whether he likes it or not."

"Yeah," Britta nods. "I'll try."

She pats Annie on the shoulder and starts over towards Jeff, who doesn't look up as she approaches. Glancing over her shoulder, Britta notices Annie's already gone back to conversing with Tom over the differences in casket lining. She bites her lip and chances a statement. "This is what you had to do to get me to come home? You could've just asked."

It works; Jeff smiles and glances up from his phone. "How was New York?"

"It was… you know. My family's crazy, my new niece is very unfortunate-looking, and my old friend is not even remotely who she used to be, so…" Britta trails off. "Same old, same old."

"You didn't have to come back on my account," Jeff tells her, tucking his phone into his pocket. Britta feels like this is some sort of small victory.

"Of course I did," Her tone switches from playful to meaningful in an instant. "I'm really sorry, Jeff."

Jeff shrugs. "Hey, it happens, right? Everyone's parents are going to die, someday."

"Yeah," Britta says uneasily. "Listen, about this funeral-"

"I can't do this right now," Jeff groans. "I have so much going on. My mom's lawyer is calling me about her will, the insurance agents and I have been playing phone tag for days, her landlord is trying to get me to sort out the rest of her lease… I just can't. I can't."

"Okay, okay, but… But I'm sure we can figure something out," Britta tries again. "They're really quick decisions. When we sort them out, then this will all be over and you can figure out what to do about everything else."

"No, I can't," Jeff is growing frustrated and Britta makes a mental note to back off slightly. "I don't know what she wanted! She never left any plans or anything! She had nothing settled, nothing figured out. I don't know what to do and I just can't. I _can't_ deal with this right now!"

Britta places a hand on his arm and says softly, "Then let me. I'll do it."

"No, it's not your responsibility," Jeff exhales. "I'll figure something out. I just don't know where to start and I don't… I don't-"

"Jeff, really. I want to help you," Britta insists. "And if this is the way I can do that then let me do it. I'll figure this out and it'll give you time to clear your head."

He stares at her a while before nodding slowly. She nods too and moves closer, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Britta can count on one hand the times she's hugged Jeff; it catches him off guard and he stands stiff for a moment. After a beat, he relents and Britta feels his own arms snake around her torso. They stay like this a moment, mainly because Britta knows when she's upset the thing she craves the most is a comforting hug and clearly no one thought to offer this to Jeff. Or maybe they did, she thinks, and this is just the first time he's accepted.

Jeff looks like a vulnerable child when they pull away and says, "Thank you."

She nods solemnly. "You're welcome. Trust me, this isn't my first funeral. I got this."

When she approaches Tom and Annie again, they glance at her expectantly. "Well?"

"The oak casket with the white satin lining," Britta answers. "Half-hour wake and an hour funeral at St. Edward's with the burial in Lakeview Cemetery. Reception following the burial at the church's reception hall. Oh, and white chrysanthemums with pink carnations."

They both stare wide-eyed at her and Annie asks, "You got all of that out of him?"

Britta hesitates. "Not exactly."

* * *

The ceremony is fairly short for the funerals Britta's attended, but as far as she can tell, it isn't short enough for Jeff, who's doing a terrible job of trying to pretend this isn't bothering him. As the days grew on, Jeff's resolve had been crumbling slowly and Britta found herself much more involved in the proceedings with his mother than she would have expected. She accompanied him to his mother's will hearing, which hadn't been long considering all she left him was a collection of photo albums and fifteen thousand dollars of debt. Britta also handled the insurance agent and apartment. Jeff hadn't been much help; as far as she could tell, he hadn't slept in days and was not handling this well. Would he admit this to anyone? Of course not.

He accepts everyone's condolences but otherwise keeps his distance. He manages to keep his composure throughout the open-casket wake; Britta feels a lump rise in her throat as she peers into the waxy smooth face of Jeff's mother, never having met her in person. Annie's already crying, Shirley's sniffling softly, and Pierce is surprisingly holding back inappropriate comments. Troy and Abed clap Jeff on the back and offer sympathy, but he ducks away and takes a seat on his designated pew. When it's his turn to give the eulogy, he does so without hesitation, tears, or otherwise. Britta's not sure how he's managed this, but even though he looks as though he's ready to fall apart, this never comes to be.

Fifteen minutes following the funeral, the crowd is standing at the burial site of Doreen Winger. The priest is still there, saying prayers over the consecrated ground and blessing her body as the casket is slowly being lowered into the earth. Audible sobs are emanating from everyone around but still, Jeff Winger does not break. Britta glances around and takes in Andre comforting Shirley, Pierce nodding in agreement with the priest's words, and Annie, holding both Troy and Abed's hands, the three of them looking incredibly solemn. Britta finds it ironic that not one of them had ever met Jeff's mother and yet here they were, having more a reaction to his death than her own son.

She glances over at Jeff now and watches his face. He's studiously staring at the lowering casket, his face stony and blank. But his hands are shaking and that says more than he ever will; Britta inches closer and slips her hand into his. He squeezes her hand, keeping a tight hold the rest of the ceremony. As it comes to a close, Jeff glances up and his entire body tenses. Britta looks up too, follows his eye line, but sees nothing. She asks, "What? What's wrong?"

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Jeff seethes, eyeing a man standing at the far end of the crowd.

Britta eyes him too; he looks like any other mourner: dressed in all black, his hair unkempt, his beard snowy white and scruffy. "Do you know him?"

"He's my father." Jeff sneers before pulling away from her and stomping off towards him.

No one's noticed Jeff take off and Britta's still in shock when the priest ends his ceremony. So Annie tells the crowd, "There'll be a reception in the church banquet hall immediately following this, so… Come join us, if you can."

It takes all the power in the world to turn away, but somehow, Britta manages to follow the rest of them into the banquet hall. They make small talk and snack on finger foods, but Britta's still trying to figure out where in the hell Jeff's father came from. Of all times to show up, why pick the day of your ex-wife's funeral to reenter your son's life? Surely there were many other ways to make one's presence known. She's absolutely certain that this will be Jeff's breaking point; when she sees him enter the banquet hall, he avoids as many people as possible and heads into an empty anteroom. Britta excuses herself from conversation with a few mourners and follows him.

He's sitting in an armchair, staring out the window in silence. Britta remains in the doorway. "Hey."

Jeff glances over at her and says, "Please don't try to shrink me."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Britta grins, using his infamous line, and this puts a smile on his face too.

"Yeah? Good."

"I was going to come out here to ask if you wanted to talk," Britta begins. "But I kind of already know what you're going to say."

"And what's that?"

"That you don't want to," She answers correctly. "That you're fine and you can handle it. So instead, I guess I'll just say… I'm here for you, you know. In case you ever do want to talk."

"Right," Jeff nods, glancing back out the window. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Britta says definitively and then heads back into the reception.

When she goes to bring him food a half hour later, Jeff is gone.

* * *

It's been a long fucking day and Britta needs some serious sleep.

She's just getting out of the shower when there's a soft knock on her door. Wrapping a towel around herself, she skids a little on the wet floor and swears violently when her heart gives that awful 'you're going to die!' leap. The soft knocking turns to incessant pounding and she yells out, "I'm coming!" But the next thing she knows, the lock is being forced open and the doorknob jiggles a moment before twisting slightly, the door beginning to open. Britta's eyes widen and she races to the kitchen, grabbing the first thing she sees to protect her as she also struggles to hold the towel around herself.

But it's Jeff; she shrieks in surprise when he enters the apartment and he jumps back as well, startled by her shock. Then he smirks, "A can opener? That's your weapon of choice? A whole knife collection and you choose a can opener?"

"Oh God, you gave me a heart attack," Britta exhales, clutching her chest. "I forgot you have a key."

"Yeah, you gave it to me last year," Jeff says, uneasy now. "Do you… Do you want it back?"

Britta gives him an odd look. "No. Keep it. What's up?"

"Nothing," He says restlessly. "You have any alcohol in this place?"

"Beer's in the fridge," Britta says, heading towards her bedroom. "Same as always. Let me put some clothes on."

"If you want to," Jeff calls after her. "I have no problem with the way you're dressed now."

Britta eyes him over her shoulder. "You're being weird. Wait one sec."

She can hear him rummaging in her fridge as she throws on a pair pajamas and towel dries her hair. Tossing the towel over the back of her desk chair, she reenters the living room, where Jeff's already chugging a beer on the couch, another one resting on the coffee table for her. She smiles at this and sits down beside him, simply watching him for a second before he glances over at her and asks, "What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?" She replies. "Not that I don't enjoy company, but what are you doing here?"

Jeff sighs. "You said if I ever wanted to talk…"

"Oh," She says, wide-eyed, and then almost giddy. "Oh! Okay. Go for it. Lay it on me."

"I don't want to talk," Jeff shakes his head. "I don't have anything to say."

Slightly disappointed, Britta nods slowly. "Okay. We can do that too. We don't have to talk."

"I do want to thank you, though," Jeff says quietly. "For everything you did. With the funeral and all of my mom's stuff and… just… Thank you."

"Of course," Britta replies. "Anything you need. Seriously. I've got your back."

"I, uh," Jeff pauses. "I think I owe you."

"No, you don't owe me," Britta disagrees. "It's just a friend helping a friend."

"Britta, don't," He frowns. "Don't play the sympathy card. _Everyone_ has been giving me pity for days. I just want things to be the way they were."

"I get that," Britta tells him. "But things _aren't_ the same as they were. Look, I'm not going to tell you what you're supposed to be feeling or how you're supposed to deal with what's happened. But you have to do _something_. Get angry, scream irrationally, punch a pillow, I don't know. But keeping it bottled up is really, really bad for you."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say," Jeff looks at her sincerely and Britta softens a bit.

"Say whatever you want," She encourages. "_Do_ whatever you want."

He does; he leans across the couch and kisses her. He's always been like this- feelings are always pouring out of everything he does despite how much he says he despises them. Britta allows him to do so but before she can lose herself too much, she pulls away and says, "What are you doing?"

"What I want."

"We're not doing this," Britta disagrees. "It's a bad idea. I'm not taking advantage of the emotionally vulnerable."

"I'm _not_ emotionally vulnerable, I'm just pissed off!" Jeff reacts angrily. "Everything in the group is fucked up. It's our last year and who the fuck knows if we'll see each other again. Out of fucking nowhere, my mom drops dead and now my _fucking father_ shows up and wants to make things right. Don't I have the right to be pissed?"

"Of course you do," Britta answers calmly. "Scream all you want. No one's telling you otherwise."

"I just don't know what the fuck to do," Jeff sighs, anger dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. "I haven't talked to my mother in a couple years. I just thought I'd have more time… What if my father dies before I tell him everything I want to say? I don't think I want to see him right now. It's convenient, isn't it?"

"Then don't see him," Britta says. "Look, you and I both know that I've been rooting for you to confront your father for years, but if you're not ready, don't do it. You've been through a hell of a lot lately and it's enough to take a toll on anyone. You need a break."

"I do need a break," He agrees. "I haven't slept in days."

"I can tell," Britta responds. "Come on, you need to sleep."

"I should go," He stands and sways on the spot. Britta grabs his arm to steady him and shakes her head.

"No, you can stay here. Look at you. You're about to fall over," She guides him toward her bedroom where he strips down to his underwear and crawls beneath the covers. She follows suit and turns off the light. It's barely ten o'clock, but they're both so exhausted, they don't mind.

"Why don't you want to kiss me?" Jeff asks moments later and Britta has to stop herself from accidentally revealing she does-_ she does and that kiss was so warm and familiar_- but she shouldn't. No. It's a bad idea.

"I'm trying this new thing where I don't sleep with everyone I know." She tells him instead and bites her lip to force herself to stop thinking about it.

"Ah, so you didn't fuck Troy then, huh?"

She rolls her eyes. "That's really none of your business."

Jeff nods. "So you did fuck him."

"I didn't," She emphasizes. "If you must know. We didn't do anything."

"You weren't right together," Jeff tells her. "You know that, right?"

"Mm," Britta murmurs, staring at the ceiling. So he _had_ been jealous of Troy. Huh. Fancy that.

"My mom always said," Jeff says quietly. "That when you meet the right person for you, everything just clicks. You're frighteningly similar, you share the same interests, and you start adopting the other's habits. You become that person's confidante and they become yours. You always have a great time with them even if you're doing something stupid. They become your whole world and you'd do anything for them."

As Britta's about to respond, Jeff continues, "And it never really made sense to me, because if she believed that, why the fuck was she with my dad? They never got along; they would come to physical blows over something as stupid as forgetting to run the dishwasher. He drank himself into a stupor and knocked her around and when she couldn't fight back, he came after me. And each time I'd complain to her, every time I'd tell her how much he was hurting me… she'd stick up for him. She'd say it wasn't that bad, that it was to toughen me up, that I'd get used to it eventually, like she did. She told me I was perfect, I was special; I was _so_ special, in fact, that my dad was jealous. And my idiotic seven-year-old brain believed that."

"The thing is," He goes on. "She was such a fuck-up… But so was I. I never called her and when she called me, I didn't answer. I'd screen her calls and ignore her until she got the message. I didn't call back. I was too busy exploiting the law for profit, too busy sleeping around, too busy being the fucked up kid she raised alone once my dad finally left. I resented her for it; still do. She _always_ put him before me. She loved him so much that there really wasn't any room for her to love anyone else, you know? And it didn't matter what he did to her. Nothing changed the way she felt about him."

"Jeff," Britta says, sliding herself closer to him as he wraps his arms around her. "I'm so sorry."

"I know you are," He sighs. "I don't know… I accused you of being guarded that first year, remember? I think it's because I saw myself reflected in you a bit. You're just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to being guarded. I just… I didn't want to end up like my mother, so I closed myself off to everyone. It was easier that way; no feelings, no emotions, no one gets hurt. But I don't want to be like that, Britta. When I saw you with Troy and when I saw my mother in a casket today and when I saw my dad… I just felt like I was losing everyone I cared about. And if I did, it would be all my fault, because I couldn't _open up_."

"I want to make one thing perfectly clear," Britta insists. "No matter what happens, you will _never_ lose me. Trust me- I'm going to be a thorn in your side for the rest of your life."

Jeff smiles. "Promise?"

"Oh, absolutely," She grins. "Look, you've already done a lot of opening up to me and think this is a great start. I wasn't kidding when I said I'm here if you want to talk; literally any time you feel like ranting, I'm your girl. Just… take your time and tell me only what you want to tell me. I don't want you to feel like I'm pressuring you."

"No, you've been great. Thank you," He leans down and kisses her forehead. "I really do care about you, Britta. I do."

This makes her grin and again, she has to stop herself from taking advantage of the emotionally vulnerable. "I know you do."

She has to admit she wasn't expecting to make such progress with Jeff in just a few short hours. Jeff has been fiercely protective of his emotions and feelings since the day they met and it's not hard to understand why, given the circumstances. Britta knows she has growing of her own to do- she's still not over her _own_ emotional issues- but something about this _new_ Jeff, this one who isn't afraid to open up to her, is giving her feelings she hasn't had in a while. Not since, well, maybe the first time she slept with Jeff all those years ago, during paintball when they'd had their first _real_ conversation and realized, oh hey, we're both real people underneath these snarky, sarcastic exteriors aren't we?

For the first time, Britta's not sure how to react. The old Jeff, the one she'd slept with for an entire year, the one she bantered pettily with, the one she'd talked about kids with and almost married an astounding amount of times, is still there somewhere. Somewhere underneath the recent beatings his ego has taken, the old Jeff is trying hard to rebuild the walls around Jeff's ferociously guarded heart. But Britta doesn't want him to; if she gets to know the _real_ Jeff, the one who just gave her an abridged version of his abusive childhood and reason for building the walls, maybe they'll be able to become something real. And she's not sure she wants that, not sure if _he_ wants that, but somewhere beyond _her_ walls, the real Britta is advocating for them to rebuild and start anew.

She glances up to tell him this, but he's sound asleep, curled around her body and holding her protectively against him. They're cuddling; they're legitimately snuggling underneath her cheap duvet and hypoallergenic, eco-friendly sheets. Their past selves would lynch them for this, but now, Britta realizes, she really has nothing against it. She snuggles in deeper, lying beneath the dip of his collarbone, her ear pressed comfortably against the hollow of his chest. His heart is beating softly, slowly, in time to the rhythmic count of his breathing and she finds herself in a strange aura of peace. She's not sure where this leaves them, now, relationship-wise and she knows they'll have to have a conversation. It has to mean something, surely, that the first time he's been able to sleep in days is while he's with her?

Tomorrow. They'll discuss it all tomorrow.


End file.
